


Want Me, Kiss Me, Hold Me

by lavenderlotion



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Coming Untouched, Consensual Underage Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Groping, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Pining, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 11:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14693394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Peter hits the ground hard, his back burning from the impact of Tony’s blast. His suit absorbed most of the heat, but the hit still burns. He groans, tries to get a hand under himself to push himself up, but another blast hits the tile only inches away from his fingers, and he startles, his entire body locking up in panic.“You need to be more careful!” Mr. Stark snaps, his Iron-Man suit opening gracefully as he takes a step, so he transitions smoothly onto the tiled floor.He’s not wearing his usual attire (well, the attire Peter usually sees him in), and instead of a suit, he’s in old, worn jeans and a dirty ACDC t-shirt. It’s a lot for Peter to take in. The clothes are tight, and they cling to Mr. Stark’s body with, not only the fit, but the layer of sweat he also seems to be covered in.





	Want Me, Kiss Me, Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> Also, yes, this is spite fic.

It’s hot. It’s  _ very _ hot. The heat is so bad, it has crashed the compounds A.C unit, and for the last two days the building's temperature hasn’t dropped below ninety-four degrees. It’s a humid heat, clinging to the skin and making everything feel damp and sticky. The rest of the team have cleared out, and Mr. Stark even sent the building staff home, giving them all paid leave until he got the air fixed. Which, for reasons unknown to Peter, he hasn’t done yet. 

Peter knows that Mr. Stark could fix the A.C in a minute, hell,  _ he _ could probably fix the A.C if he tried hard enough (and if not him, Ned absolutely could). But Mr. Stark still hasn’t, even though it’s been two days, and for whatever reason Peter has still shown up every day for training. Well, Peter  _ knows _ why he’s shown up, but he tries rather hard to not think about the why.

Thinking about why he keeps coming to the compound, when he knows only Mr. Stark will be there, leads him to thinking about a lot of other things he tries hard not to think about. Mostly, it leads to him thinking about  _ Tony _ —which, seeing as Tony is his mentor and kind of his boss (Peter had never expected for Mr. Stark to turn his ‘apprenticeship’ into a real,  _ paid _ one) is wildly inappropriate. 

Because thinking about Mr. Stark and thinking about Tony are like thinking about two different people. Mr. Stark is his mentor, his boss. Mr. Stark is someone that Peter reports into after a mission or a stakeout, disinterested in Peter beyond making him into a competent hero. He is someone who is more of an icon than a man. And Tony—Tony is a friend, is quick-witted and funny and asks after Peter’s day. Tony is kind, and he is considerate, and he cares about Peter as a person. 

Tony is someone that Peter  _ wants _ .

He wants to know Tony, far more than he does now. Peter wants to be a constant in his life, someone that he turns to during distress. He wants to be someone that offers support and someone that Tony takes strength from. He wants to know  _ all _ of Tony, wants to  _ see all _ of Tony. Wants Tony over him, naked and panting and all Peter’s, only Peter’s.

But Peter knows he can’t have Tony, and he settles himself for Mr. Stark, calls him the honorific as a harsh reminder of what he’ll never have. It hurts almost as much as being called Kid, and every time the word slides out of Mr. Starks mouth, Peter has to bite down on his own lip, clench his hands into fists, because it feels like rejection. 

He doesn’t even dream of saying anything, though. He can tell himself that the rejection isn’t real, that it doesn’t hurt as much, when Mr. Stark (because he knows Mr. Stark  _ would _ reject him, but it hurts too much to think that Tony would as well) doesn’t know he’s doing it. Peter knows damn well that’s a lie, but it’s a lie that helps him fall asleep at night without feeling like his heart is splitting open. 

Peter thinks he must like the pain, seeing as he keeps showing up at the compound. Today is no different, and he had arrived just in time for their training session. Swinging through the city had left him hot, sweat stuck between his skin and the suit, despite the breathable fabric. His suit isn’t conducive to mass amounts of sweat, sadly, and he is already over the entire day, before it has even begun.

That doesn’t stop him from fighting against Mr. Stark, though. He isn't often able to say no when Mr. Stark asks for something, and showing up for training in this sort of weather is a perfect example of that. He shoots a web at the far wall, pulling tight and launching himself through the air before he can be hit by a blast from Mr. Stark’s repulser.

God, he needs to get his head in the game.

Peter knows he isn’t at his best, but it’s  _ hot _ , and the heat is making it hard to focus. He can usually get his thoughts under control when he needs to, but it seems useless to even try to focus on anything right now. Still, he uses as much power as he can when he pushes himself off the wall, flipping backwards through the air and throwing out a web once he’s behind Tony.

He lands light on his feet and tugs with both hands, smiling under his mask when Mr. Stark’s suit crashes to the ground, not prepared for Peter pulling him down. He starts throwing out webs, blanketing the suit so it can’t get up, but he isn’t quite fast enough and Mr. Stark manages to get an arm up and aimed at Peter before he sees it.

Peter hits the ground hard, his back burning from the impact of Tony’s blast. His suit absorbed most of the heat, but the hit still burns. He groans, tries to get a hand under himself to push himself up, but another blast hits the tile only inches away from his fingers, and he startles, his entire body locking up in panic.

“You need to be more careful!” Mr. Stark snaps, his Iron-Man suit opening gracefully as he takes a step, so he transitions smoothly onto the tiled floor.

He’s not wearing his usual attire (well, the attire Peter usually sees him in), and instead of a suit, he’s in old, worn jeans and a dirty ACDC t-shirt. It’s  _ a lot _ for Peter to take in. The clothes are tight, and they cling to Mr. Stark’s body with, not only the fit, but the layer of sweat he also seems to be covered in.

Peter slowly gets up, not quite able to pull his gaze away from the older man—whether it’s because he’s wary or because he’s entranced by the sight of the sweat beading along Tony’s brow (because  _ fuck _ , he can’t keep thinking of him as Mr. Stark, not when he looks like this), is entirely his own business. 

“You could have died,” Tony’s voice is still angry, his face tainted red, either from his frustration or the heat, maybe both.

“I’m sor—” Peter tries, only to be cut off by Tony’s harsh words.

“No! No, sorry isn’t enough, Peter!” he can’t stop the step back he takes in the face of Tony’s anger, something he’s so rarely had directed at him. “You need to be focused. To pay more attention.”

“I understand that, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him quietly, eyes focused on the floor because he doesn't know what else to do.

“Real life isn’t the same as training!” Tony shouts, still too close and too angry, seemingly towering above Peter.

“It’s just, it’s so  _ hot _ ,” Peter tries, which is stupid, probably. The whole reason they’re even doing this, the whole reason they’re even  _ here _ , is for the heat. Tony had explained that real missions, real fights, weren’t predictable. That they could be anywhere, in any weather, and this would be a good chance for Peter to practice fighting in unsavoury conditions. 

“I know,” Tony sighs out, his shoulder slumping as his anger seems to wash out of him. “Let’s get some water, yeah?”

Peter nods, and he follows Tony out into the kitchen, only a half step behind the older man. He’s still just a little wary—he’s  _ never _ seen Tony that angry—and he doesn’t want to do anything else that might anger him further. So he keeps quiet, clamps down on his usual blabbering, though it’s normally just a balm for his nerves anyway. 

Even the main rooms of the compound are terribly hot, and Peter’s suit is sticking to him, dampened by his own sweat. As much as he would like to take if off, he’s not wearing nearly enough underneath the suit to do so, and it itches as he walks. He follows Tony into the kitchen, falls a second step behind when he realizes  _ just _ how well the worn-in jeans cling to Tony’s ass.

“Water?” Tony asks and Peter nods, mouth unbearably dry, and he tells himself it’s just from the heat.

He doesn’t think the tightness in his stomach—or, if he’s honest, his pants—is from the heat, though. It’s from Tony, always Tony, and his too-tight t-shirt, the way the sleeves are stretched around the hard muscle of his biceps, the veins running along his forearms. It’s his hands, always stained, just a little with grease and how Peter wants to know what they’d feel like along his skin. 

He accepts the glass quietly, trying to pull his thoughts away from the way Tony looks right now. Thinking of him like that only hurts, when Peter knows nothing will come of it. They’re nothing more than silly dreams, hopelessly imaginings that he knows will never happen.

“Want to tell me what went wrong in there?” Tony asks, once Peter has finished gulping down his water. 

“I wasn’t paying enough attention,” Peter mumbles, and he ducks his gaze. He doesn’t like the feeling of disappointing anyone, let alone someone who he feels about the way he does Tony. 

“You need to be more careful on the field,” Tony tells him, holding up his hand when Peter goes to protest. “Remember the fight with Cap? That was  _ nothing _ like a real fight would be. Every punch was pulled, every hit was meant to slow you down, not to kill you. That isn’t what it’s going to be like.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” Peter snaps, and while he tries to push down some of the anger rising in his chest, he can’t quite stop himself. “Do you think I  _ forget _ what it felt like to be crushed by  _ a building _ , what it was like to go after Toomes in nothing but a  _ fucking sweatshirt _ . D-do you even know how many times that night I nearly  _ died _ ?”

He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it does, breaks through his rant. He remembers the fear, how helpless and hopeless he felt, his body being weighed down by rubble. No backup, no help on its way. He had been alone,  _ alone _ , and some days, he still lies awake, unable to stop the nightmares from coming.

“I—I know that. I’m sorry, I just want you to be safe out there,” Tony tells him, throwing his arm out like he’s going to touch, like he wants to pull Peter in, before he drops his arm again.

“Then stop treating me like I’m some silly kid. I know I’m young, but I’m  _ not _ a kid. Not anymore,” Peter tells him, voice a touch steadier now as he takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” Tony says, his voice sounding too heavy in the quiet room, and when Peter looks up the man has his eyes cast downward, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“I—” he tries, but the words get caught in his throat, hope rising in his chest as confessions tangle together, and he finds himself unable to say anything back.

So, instead of speaking, he gathers up his courage, wraps it around himself as though it’s a tangible thing, and he steps close, closer than he ever has and right into Tony’s personal space. Tony doesn’t push him away, doesn’t make him move, just looks down into Peter’s eyes. Peter takes it as a welcome, fits himself closer until he can feel the height of Tony’s body against his own, even through his suit. 

“We can’t,” Tony tells him, though he sounds unsure, and his voice shakes. 

“My birthday is soon,” Peter says, and he lets himself be bold and takes what he wants. He grabs Tony’s hand and twines their fingers together, his breath catching when Tony stares down at their joined fingers in something like awe. 

“I know. Forty-two days,” Tony tells him, and Peter feels Tony’s breath against his own mouth and wonders if that’s the only reason Tony hasn’t kissed him yet.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Peter breathes out, close, so close, his nose brushing against Tony’s and almost, almost—

It isn’t magic, when Tony kisses him. Their lips press together softly, a dry slide of their mouths, though Peter does gasp just a little. He breathes in sharply through his nose, his eyes already closed, and tilts his head up so the angle is better. He hasn’t kissed many people, though he knows the mechanics of what’s supposed to happen. He’s not prepared for Tony biting his bottom lip, or the shock of arousal it sends through his body, and his next inhale shakes through his chest. 

Tony pulls back, his face clouded with something dark. “We can’t do this. I—I can’t do this.”

“Why,” Peter doesn’t mean for it sound so whiny, be the word comes out that way. It isn’t  _ fair _ , that he got a taste of something he’s wanted for so long, only to have Tony look down at him like he just made a mistake. 

“You’re too  _ young _ ,” Tony says, teeth clenched tightly and his hands fisted at his side. He still hasn’t backed away, though. 

“If I’m old enough to fight against the Avengers at your side, I’m damn well old enough for you to kiss,” Peter demands, pushes as much authority into his voice as he can, and he doesn’t wait for a response before he presses in for another kiss.

He’s sure he makes a noise, something soft and whimpering, when Tony begins to  _ suck _ on his bottom lip. Peter arches his back, presses all of himself along Tony’s body. Peter flicks his tongue out, trying to keep his movements sure as he licks at Tony’s top lip, slides his tongue deeper when Tony opens up his mouth. His hand, the one not still holding Tony’s, steadies himself against the man’s chest, and he shamelessly fists his hand into Tony’s shirt. 

Tony moans, the sound deep as it rumbles out of his chest, and he backs them up until granite is digging into Peter’s back. He hops onto the kitchen counter, spreading his thighs wide so that Tony can settle himself between them and laughs, bright and so, so happy, when Tony nips at his bottom lip again. He presses the spider emblem on his chest and his suit goes loose, slipping down his shoulder and pooling around his elbows.

It only takes him a moment to get his arms untangled, and once his hands are free he starts tugging at Tony’s own shirt, pulling at the hem in an attempt to get it off. Tony moves back for just a moment, just long enough to get his shirt over his head before he’s back, though this time he goes for Peter’s throat. Peter tilts his head back, giving Tony as much space to suck and bite and lick as he wants, arching his whole body into it in a way that presses their hips together.

He lets out a moan, not able to be quiet when his erection presses into the hard length of Tony’s own, and the proof of Tony’s arousal makes Peter laugh, a little giddy and a lot happy. Peter pulls Tony by the hair into another kiss, though he can’t keep the kiss going with how big his smile is, and he laughs against Tony’s mouth.

“Hi,” Peter breathes, a little breathless and a little embarrassed, but only until Tony pulls back and Peter gets to see that his mouth is also stretched into a wide smile.

“Hello,” Tony’s smile is just as warm as his tone, and he rubs his hands up and down Peter’s thighs. 

He can still feel Tony’s arousal pressed against his, but there’s nothing urgent about it, no rush to the heat in his stomach. Tony’s hands wander higher, slipping from his thighs and wrapping around him to settle on his ass. He smirks, the sight sultry and sexy and gorgeous, and Peter grins when Tony grabs handfuls of his suit and tugs it down even further. 

“Tony,” Peter sighs, wrapping a leg around Tony’s waist and trying to press them closer together, as close he can, pressing kisses to Tony’s jaw. 

“Are these...are these  _ Iron-Man themed _ ?” Tony asks, voice going high as he pulls back, staring at Peter’s briefs with wide eyes.

Peter flushes, his whole face going red. He covers his face with both hands, and drops the leg he’d been using to press them together. He tries to scoot back—since Tony still hasn’t backed away in...horror? disgust?—but Tony keeps his arms around Peter’s waist, even going so far as to slip his fingers into the band of Peter’s Iron-Man themed briefs. 

“Awh jeez,” he says, words mumbled into his own palms. “I forgot I was wearing them. I—I’m real sorry, Tony.”

“Kid, what on earth are you apologizing for?” Tony asks, his voice raspy. Peter peers at him through the gaps between his fingers, though he doesn’t completely uncover his face until Tony wraps gentle hands around his wrists and pulls them away from his face, tangling their fingers together and settling them into Peter’s lap. 

“Just-just for ruining the moment,” Peter murmurs, eyes cast downward and staring at their hands, the way they seem to fit together. 

“Pete,” Tony says, and he pulls one of Peter’s hands to press against the still-hard line of his cock. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Peter lets out a little ‘oh’, his mouth dropping open as Tony pushes against his fingers. He manages to get his brain working again, since he’s fairly certain it shut down as soon as Tony had pressed his hand to his cock, and he opens his hand to palm Tony’s erection. He snorts a little when Tony ruts forward, the older man leaning forward and dropping his head to Peter’s shoulder.

“Y-you’re not upset?” Peter asks, though he’s certain he already knows the answer. He tugs his other hand free and starts to work on the button to Tony’s jeans, the slight shaking of his fingers forcing him to try more than once.

“I  _ like  _ seeing you in this,” Tony growls into Peter’s neck, right when Peter gets his fingers wrapped around Tony’s cock. “In briefs with  _ my name _ on them.”

Peter is painfully hard, the tip of his cock red as it peeks out from the waist of his boxers. It’s leaking precome, enough that his belly is wet with it. His balls feel tight, and really, Peter is surprised he hasn’t come in his pants yet. After all, he’s a teenage boy, and he’s holding  _ Tony Stark’s _ cock in his hands, thumbing over the head and staring at it in a sort of awed wonder.

Peter hums and tries his best not to come right here and now, especially when Tony lowers his head to suck at one of Peter’s nipple. It’s a challenge, especially with how sensitive his entire body has become, but he manages to focus on what his hand is doing. He’s pretty sure the hand job he’s giving Tony is subpar, his grip awkward and the motion of jacking someone else off entirely unfamiliar, but Tony is still making these enthusiastic moans, so Peter doesn't stop.

He arches his back when Tony bites down on one of his nipples, and the jolt of pain is enough to send him over the edge, whining high in the back of his throat as his cock shoots come over his and Tony’s stomachs. Tony makes a broken sort of noise, leaving Peter’s nipple alone to watch as the rest of Peter’s orgasm dribbles out of him.

“Oh, oh fuck, Peter, kid, oh my god,” Tony rambles, and then he is coming too, coating Peter’s hand in warm wetness, slumping forward enough that Peter wraps his legs around the man's waist to keep him standing.

There’s silence for long minutes, no sound other than their harsh panting. Peter’s brain feels like jello, thoughts far away and hard to grasp at. He’s just had one of the best orgasms in his short life, and no one even touched his dick. Fuck. 

“You can’t tell anyone about us,” Tony says, and the words have hope rising in Peter’s chest. 

“Shush,” Peter tells him, because hope or not his brain really does feel like it’s become nothing more than mush. 

“I’m serious, Peter,” Tony tells him. 

“You’re ruining my afterglow,” Peter mumbles, tries not to feel hurt. He knows it’s true, how dangerous and messy what they just did—and maybe will continue to do—is. 

“It would be bad if people—”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Peter cuts him off, annoyed at the tone Tony has taken on. Peter isn’t stupid, he’s aware of the reality they live in. 

“I’m serious Peter, no one can—” Tony tries, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Tony, if I can keep the fact that I’m  _ Spider-Man _ a secret, I’m pretty sure I can keep our relationship a secret too,” he snaps out, huffing out a long, annoyed sigh. 

“A relationship, huh kid?” Tony says, leaning in again for a kiss. 

Peter hums a confirmation against Tony’s lips, tangling his fingers in the short hair along Tony’s nape. He can already tell Tony has found a very good way at squashing Peter’s annoyance, considering all his earlier agitation is bleeding away as Tony licks into his mouth. If this is how the older man is going to ask for forgiveness, Peter doesn’t think there’ll be much Tony could do that he wouldn’t forgive. 

He doesn’t think he minds. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the second fic I have posted during May that I did not plan to write. I am not upset! Writing a new sharp is hard work, but I feel heavy into these two, so expect more :D
> 
> me and my friend put together a Starker discord server. if you want, [check it out!](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/post/174005078424/the-starker-18-chat)


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